


Songs of Yesterday

by FlickerInTheDark



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera (2004), Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, Hope, Kidnapped, Lost - Freeform, Lost Love, Love, Modern, Trust, immigrant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-11-21 10:15:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11355372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlickerInTheDark/pseuds/FlickerInTheDark
Summary: Erik kidnaps Christine but not out of malice. The two have met before but what now? Modern AU E/C





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It should be stated in the front I in no way condone what Erik may do. For reference Christine will be 18 and Erik 35. I decided after reading many Erik kidnaps Christine fanfiction and though I might give it a go!

The first time the car passes she thought nothing of it. The second time even she did not take notice. The streets in this part of town were twisting and often circled back on themselves. Christine wasn’t going to notice when a car passed multiple times. But maybe if she had, things would have been different.

She woke up in a room on a couch. Through her barely open eyes, she saw a piano and a man sitting there. Without a second passing, the man rushed over to her. “Careful now, you might feel a bit woozy.”

She thought  _where am I?_ She, of course, seemed to have no control over her mouth because this thought came out as a slurred mumble. A long string of drool must have escaped her because he merely reached into his waistcoat and wiped the side of her mouth.

“Shh, I can see that you're still not all here. No matter I’ll be here when you do come to fully.” He waved his hand over her face and her eyes shut.

She awoke again, this time in a bedroom. It alarmed her that he must have carried her. She sat up and there he was. She saw the man had a thin frame, dark features and most noticeably a white mask.

“Ah, I see you have awakened.” He closed his book and walked out. She didn’t have even a minute to gather her thoughts when he brought in a tray. 

“Who are you?” she straightened and stammered. It would do no good to make this person think she was weak. She had watched crime dramas and knew she would have to keep her wits about her.

“Don’t you remember?” he asked concerned and her stomach sank. The tray had some food and it was cooked exactly right. There were some scrambled eggs that were lightly browned just the way she liked it. The toast was cut into two triangles and had exact butter to jam ratio. The orange juice was pulp free and was slightly warm the way she liked it. She panicked; only her father knew how she liked her orange juice.  

“Eat. You haven’t had anything since lunch time yesterday I would imagine.” He sat back in his seat and watched her with his one golden eye and one blue eye.

“I’m sorry I really don’t remember you.”

Without a word he began to sing in a low voice. The song was from her childhood and it the memories hit her.

She was standing in an empty auditorium and she had been crying. She and her parents had just moved from France to New York. Until she was 7 she lived in Sweden and then they had moved to France where she lived until she was 11. At 12 years old Christine was most comfortable speaking Swedish but in France and the States no one spoke Swedish so she had to put on a brave face every time someone pointed out that it was “taken” and not “tooken”.

Rehearsal that day had gone terribly because the meanest girl Carlotta had pointed out Christine could barely speak English so why should she get a very small role in the upcoming production. She had a total of 7 lines and most of them were less than 5 words.

She had been completely embarrassed and had said, “Please do not speaking to me like that!”

The uproar of laughter told her she had messed up again. The director had chided Carlotta but after everyone left she was left on stage crying. Her mom would pick her up for another 15 minutes so she was alone.

“A lion does not concern itself with the opinions of a sheep,” the voice lilted down from above. She looked up saw nothing. She thought she was imagining things when the voice came again. “Dry those tears little one. It would not do to ruin your voice when you have a whole auditorium to impress.”

“I don’t care,” she called out, “I will always sound stupid.”

“Silence. I will not hear foolish chatter! You auditioned and you were given the role everything will be all right,” the voice answered and in a lowered voice, “though you deserve a bigger role. But no matter they will see.”

But before she could ask anymore she heard her director yell that her ride was here. She gave one last cursory look at the ceiling and walked out. It wasn’t until she was in the car she realized the voice had spoken in Swedish. That was why this was the first conversation that she didn’t struggle through.

Back in the present she looked at the man behind the voice. When his song ended she felt a wave of emotions. This person was a stranger but he was the one who brought her to prominence.. He had taken her and now she was here. She remembered a statistic that she had heard somewhere that people are more likely to be kidnapped by someone that they know than a complete stranger. All resolve to remain courageous and steadfast dissolved. Survival instincts told her to run, to hurt him but she was scared.

“Oh, please do not cry,” he said his voice soft. He sounded exactly how he had all those years ago. But realizing the voice had a person was shocking. It was silly but to know that nothing that had happened was special. This was his long con and now he had her where he wanted her.

“Please take me back, I-I promise I won’t say anything! I can’t break their hearts again!”

“I wish I could. But you need help yourself before you can help others,” he took the fork from her tray and put a small piece of egg on it, “Eat.” She moved her head away from the fork. She felt like a toddler but who knows what he was doing. Fear consumed her and all sorts of dark theories formed. What if he was poisoning or drugging her? What if she leaned and he decided to stab her in her throat?

“Please! It- it would help me so much more if you let me go. I’ll do whatever you want from home. I promise!” She was grasping at straws and she could see from his face he wasn’t intent to change his mind.

“Perhaps you will be hungry a bit later. But you will eat. You have neglected eating lately and that can lead to more dangerous things.” He picked up her tray.

“Don’t hurt me!” He turned around and readjusted his hands so that one held the tray and the other brushed her bangs form her face.

“The first thing you must understand is I have no intention to hurt you. Secondly, you must trust me, everything has been taken care of.” With that he left. What did he mean? Of course he would try to make her complacent and placate her worry. But these words did nothing. He had told her once she was going to be all right but what she could not trust those words.

_Pull your shit together! Whatever twisted shit he is planning you have to be ready. Crying will blur your ability to think. You will make him think you are nothing special!_

 


	2. Chapter 2

He had not returned for half an hour and she suspected he was giving her a chance to get comfortable with the situation. She had pet birds as a child and her father told her to not rush the birds into learning tricks. “Let the birds get used to their new home and when they warmed up to their new home they will come to you.” 

She was not going to be a silly little bird. But she was going to have to figure out where she was living. The walls were painted white and the carpet was also white. It made the room feel sterile. She walked around the room starting at her bedroom door. The door wasn’t locked which surprised her. But she wasn’t going to run. He was probably expecting her to bolt at any second; she would make a run for it when he was least expecting it. Going clockwise she found a dresser with her clothes. She had closed the drawers but whipped them back open when she realized these were the exact same clothes from her apartment. She pulled out an old choir T-shirt and saw all of the names of the cast and crew written in Sharpie. She felt a little panicky. How did he get these clothes? If he was able to get her clothes in the short time she had been out then what else was he capable of?

She had to shake off this uneasiness and continued to the vanity. The vanity was loaded with makeup despite the fact she was never one for makeup. It wasn’t that she was against it but the fact she had no clue how to use most of the products. She didn’t know how to contour or do anything more than put concealer and maybe some eyeliner on. She was a drugstore kind of girl but the makeup in the drawers was high end, the kind of makeup that sold out hours after being marketed. Did he expect her to wear this?

After closing the drawers she noticed giant bay windows. The window seat looked comfortable, like the spot one would curl up on to read while sipping hot cocoa on a rainy day. Looking out the windows she saw a lake and beyond that a highway. So she was not completely in the boonies. She ventured a guess that the highway was 10 miles off but she never was good at gauging distance. She noted the windows had latches and attempted to open them. Of course, they didn’t budge, it didn’t matter though as she noticed she was on either the second or third floor and jumping out would not be wise. 

She decided to examine the windows more closely later and noticed she was back at the bed which was across from the door. It was a simple bed, probably from IKEA. It disgusted her that a kidnapper would shop at IKEA along side normal citizens.

Then she saw her bookshelves. It was filled with books and it took her a moment to realize that all of the books were in Swedish. Since that fateful day, she had become fluent in English but she had weirdly always preferred to read in Swedish. Christine didn’t want to lose her roots, but finding Swedish media was a challenge. She saw several of her favorite books like _The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo_ and Harry Potter. As far as she knew her kidnapper should have no idea about her literary tastes and it irritated her that every shelf held her favorites or books she had planned to read. He is a fool if he thinks I can’t just hole myself away. With a book, she never needed to leave this room.

Then she saw her closet. Much to her chagrin, the closet held the rest of the clothes she owned. She didn’t like looking at her pitiful collection of clothes in the gigantic closet. 

She had finished touring her room. The room was simple and tasteful. She was never one for flash and glamor if she wasn’t performing. Perhaps she thought she had to balance out the glitz with some degree of normalcy.

She realized she had to use the restroom, but her room was not equipped with a bathroom. A sinking feeling of dread began to dawn on her. She would have to venture out. Deciding that kidney failure would not be how she wanted to go down, she straightened her clothes and opened the door. The hall was completely silent and no one sign of life. She slowly opened the door more and walked out. She decided she would explore the floor first and maybe she would find a clue to where the bathroom was.

She noticed to her right was a flight of stairs. Looking to her left she found a row of doors and she walked down the hall. The first door across from her room was locked. She tried the one next to it and again it was locked. Eventually, she found an open door, which thankfully was the bathroom. It was half way down the hall and was on the side of the hall her room was on. 

Inside she saw the bathroom was quite grand and luxurious. The bathtub was the size of a hot tub. She suspected if she were to bathe in it, her feet wouldn’t touch the other side. The toilet was even state of the art, though she never thought a toilet could be such a thing.

After finishing her business she looked in the mirror and noticed the dark circles under her eyes. Drugged. Oh, right she had ended up here not cause she wanted to be. Despite being drugged she looked as if she had not slept in years. She would have to at some point confront him and she didn’t want to look pathetic. If she continued to look sickly he would think she needed her more and would never let her go. 

So she washed her face. The towels were a softer than any towel she had ever felt. In her apartment, she was still using the towels she had used as a child. The soap was fancy and smelled of lilac, which was her favorite fragrance. When she dried her face she noticed she looked fresher and more alive. She looked at her hair but decided nothing could be done about it right now because her hairbrush was in her room. 

With that thought, she decided to head back to her room before he noticed. So she quickly exited and made her way down the hall. But her door was locked. Perhaps the door was sticky and she pushed and twisted the handle more. Then she heard him say, “Ah, good it appears I have caught you at a good time.”

She turned around slowly with daggers in her eyes. It made sense; he wanted her to have to leave her room at some point in order to force her to confront him. She was furious at how he so easily manipulated her. She thought she had been stealthy but instead played right into his hands. His thin, wanly hand was reached out as if she were a drowning and he the coast guard coming to save her. But instead of saving her she felt her lungs fill up and she gasped trying to find another way to survive.

She moved so he was now against the door and she poised to run. She held the upper hand now. “I can see that you are still very upset at me,” he said.

“Listen, I don’t know where you get off doing this, but what you are doing is wrong on every level,” she said with measured breath.

“You need to eat before we have a rational conversation, come follow me,” he said as if there was nothing wrong. He glided past her and started walking down the steps. He walked with such lightness like he had just been told they would spend a fun day together. Christine tried the door to her room once more but it had not magically opened so she was forced to follow him.

She could have gotten lost but his humming told her which way to go. It was a labyrinth and finally, she reached a dining room. He was standing in the doorway and he gestured for her to sit at the end of a table. The room was much longer than the table and she realized if the table was extended she could imagine grand dinner parties taking place. But for now the table was maybe a quarter of the room and she sat down in the chair at the end of the room. He pushed in her chair and walked out of the room. 

The panic seeped back in when she realized the where she was sitting. He had orchestrated it just so that she would be trapped if he sat in the chair opposite her. He would block her only exit from the room. She looked at the windows but figured they were most likely locked.

She turned when she smelled something wonderful. It smelled like chicken noodle soup. Not any soup but her mother’s soup. She also smelled freshly baked bread and saw him carrying both.

“I think it wise to have you eat something easy on the stomach,” he said placing the bowl and bread next to her. He left and returned with a pitcher of water which he filled her water goblet with and then went to sit at the other end of the table. Despite her stomach growling she merely stared at him.

“You are going to have to eat sometime.”

She remained silent.

“I am a very good businessman so here is the deal. For every bite of food or sip of water, you may ask one question, to which I will answer to the best of my ability,” he said sitting straighter and folding his arms.

She thought his bargain over. Her answer came by lifting the spoon and taking her first bite. The soup was good, after the first bite, it took everything to not simply pick the bowl up and slurp it down.

“Very good. Your first question?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be sure to review and follow!

**Author's Note:**

> Please follow this story if you enjoyed it


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